Housecarls
by cosmophilia
Summary: "I am your sword AND your shield." May be a series dedicated to the unfortunate souls you either shout off a mountain, sacrifice to Boethiah... or worse, leave rotting at home.
1. Lydia

Prior to being a housecarl, Lydia has tried it all.

No, not in the sense you're thinking about right now. This is work-related.

At seven and ten, she became a patrolling guard outside the walls of Whiterun. The old chaps at the Barracks say the young'uns can outrun a sabre cat faster than them, hence the assignment. She thinks it's a load of bull, that these geezers are just asserting their seniority. _Better them than us, _their ugly mugs told her in the way the corners of their mouths tilt the tiniest amount upward.

Besides, their job is to guard. If a sabre cat appears, they should take care of it, not run and endanger the citizens. _Stupid old men._

Then she became a stationary guard at two and twenty, atop the battlements just before one reaches the wooden gates to Whiterun. She stood guard at night, and the plains were breathtaking from her spot. The sparse fires across the land were warm and inviting, but it is the light of the twin moons that gave everything a different glow to them. Indeed, Whiterun at night was wonderful, that sometimes she finds herself thinking of dancing in the plains to a tune only she knows.

She slaps herself awake at this thought, the Divines know they gave her two left feet. _Stupid girl with stupid dreams._

A year later, a merchant concluding his business at the Cloud District asked the captain of the guard for help. Capable men and women, he says, to help him get to Solitude. With his wares, the pace will be slow, but there will be numerous stops along the way. Morthal may be part of it, as the man wants to see what can be bartered there.

"Travel could take up to two weeks at least," Commander Caius said, as his eyes searched through rows of guards standing before him. "Any volunteers?"

Lydia raised her sword arm.

That's how she realized perhaps she might have bitten off more than what she can chew. Speaking positively, of course, as the merchant required as many stops as there are cobblestones in Whiterun.

It's frustrating!

When they kill a wolf, he'll skin it on the spot. Killed a sabre cat? Skinned. A bear? You know it. They managed to obtain fifteen more pelts just after passing through Rorikstead. She can only imagine how much more stops it will take until they're in the Haafingar hold...

Lydia stopped counting at thirty. There were more stops after that, but at this point, she doesn't care. She'll only irritate herself, she thought, as she downed her mead. She and her fellow Whiterun guards were down at the Four Shields Tavern, celebrating the completion of their _mission_. The merchant paid them handsomely, probably with the profit from the pelts of their kills along the way. But other than that, the journey was pleasant. Their employer doesn't put on airs, and would even sit and regale them with tales of lands beyond Skyrim when they gather around the fire at night.

Someday, she thinks, she'd like to see them too. With a more favourable companion, if the Divines grant it.

Two years has passed since then, and it's been six moons' turn since she's been sworn to the Dragonborn. '_Sworn to the Dragonborn'_ might have sounded nice on paper, but the reality is far from it.

Far, like her Thane is, right now.

"Lydia, hurry up!" He called to her, an impatient hand beckoning her.

A slight jog after, she got to a pace behind him.

"I was thinking of heading to..." Grey eyes searched the map in his grasp before smiling brightly at her. "Riften, to unload all the wares we managed to gather!"

_'You managed to gather,'_ she corrected inwardly.

The Rift Hold was a place where she'd like to retire someday; its inviting red leaves and warm shade a paradise she'd like to die in. Its capital might be a terrible den of skeevers, but out here, she could entertain thoughts of building a home. Minus the occasional visits from bears and Frostbite spiders.

"We should stop by Ivarstead first, I feel like finally taking up Wilhelm on his ghost problems."

_'If only you'd take up other pressing matters.'_

The smile that broke on the Dragonborn's face, slowly melted into something she'd normally see on Belethor when people are taking a gander at his wares.

"After all," he continues, smile still in place, "the dead has everything to offer."

This time, Lydia sighed audibly, before adjusting the pack on her back. _Stupid Dragonborn and his stupid hoard._

"I am _sworn_ to carry your burdens."

* * *

**A/N:** A Skyrim fanfiction in 2019?! Impossible! Nevertheless, hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own TES V: Skyrim. If I did, there'd be beastfolk and mer children you can adopt.


	2. Argis the Bulwark

He was covering the rear of their retreating forces when he heard it.

"Get a move on!" The captain called out from the front, his breathing ragged, as they attempt to scale the Reach's treacherous terrain. Treacherous, as no matter how high you think you've climbed, you're only a few arrows away from meeting a certain death. Especially from the Forsworn, having been raised and molded by this landscape.

He grits his teeth, abruptly reminded of the reason why they had to flee, and tightened his hold on his shield. He swore the next time he meets them in the field, he'll tear them apart, limb to limb, to show they aren't the only savages that inhabit Skyrim—

_"Help!"_

Turning to the call's direction had been his last mistake.

* * *

Or so it should have been. When he came to, he was greeted by the shadows dancing against the stone walls. Funny, he thinks, how he feels as though half of the world had been stolen from him. He attempts to sit up, and almost fell at his lack of balance. It was his left hand that saved him from the fall, yet somehow… he can't _see_ it.

His head swam. No matter how hard it is to simply sit, he fixes his posture up and took deep breaths to calm himself. _One… two… three…_ He can see his right hand and the periphery in the area quite well, he sees his fellow soldiers curled up in their furs, the fire—

The pain came much like the Forsworn into the city; unannounced.

He lurched forward, clutching at his left eye when suddenly he found himself restrained. Hands clung from his legs to his arms, binding him effectively.

"Calm down, Argis," the captain's voice said, yet he could not see him. Footsteps lightly rebounded along the walls and soon he found himself looking up at the man.

"Sir, I…" Even to himself, his voice sounded too rough.

A wooden bowl was thrust under his nose and he felt the cold wafting from it.

"Drink."

He didn't have to be told twice. The hands binding him disappeared now, and he saw his friends taking their places beside their captain, a somber look overtaking their faces.

"The Jarl and his son will be riding to Windhelm," the captain spoke once more, with the terse tone he was known for. "I will accompany them, along with a small contingent of five."

"We're not soldiers," Argis found himself blurting out, "how are we to—"

"We're not soldiers," was the mirrored reply he got, "but we're guards. And that's what we'll do until the Divines take us."

Silence enveloped them. He took this time to look carefully at the faces in front of him; faces he ate with, got drunk with, sparred with… faces he might not see again, not until this uprising has been quelled. Faces he might not see ever again once they depart.

"When?"

"Before the sun breaks on the morrow." The captain answered, "Lord Raerek will stay behind to look after the citizens. The Silver-Bloods have a pair of cooks in their employ; hence they'll oversee the meals. Nothing too fancy, you'd do well to remind them. The goal is to survive." He tempered the last statement with a look that Argis could only reply with a nod.

"What is expected of me, sir?"

"Recover. Know that you only lost an eye, not the will to live. The safety of the citizens depends on each one of you that will be left behind. Am I understood?"

* * *

Seeing the shadows dance in the stone walls of Vlindrel Hall remind him of that night.

He might be surrounded by the lavishness that come with being a housecarl, but his blood still sung with rage he wishes he had ample time to drain from his veins. Yet here he was, not quite past his prime but also not quite in those years anymore, and stuck guarding an empty house against foe that will never materialize.

Of course, he asked Jarl Igmund to instead give him a post outside where the action is, but was declined. Graciously.

_"The captain asked this much from us," the young Jarl had said, almost as if placating him, "In fact, he advised me to tell you something more demeaning if it meant that you'll stand down. Wine?"_

_"My gratitude, my lord, but I must refuse."_

_He didn't mean to ambush the Jarl, but he simply had to. Just because he lost an eye doesn't mean he'll perform less with his duties!_

_"I implore you to understand, Argis, your father simply wanted to keep you safe… and I will never refuse a man of his dying wish."_

Perhaps it is his father that the shadows remind him of. A shadow he'd chased since he was young, a shadow he never got to see after they'd left for Windhelm. A shadow he really should face someday, with pride, to tell that he'd lived out the second lease in life his father had afforded him, in his deathbed.

Perhaps he needed wine, after all.

The creak of the front door begged to differ.

"This is kidnapping."

An outlandish gasp resounded from the front door.

"In the eyes of the law, you are my children—!"

"Right, children you forcibly took home, more like."

"I agree."

Their footfalls bounced off the walls, as though announcing an impending doom. Or responsibility the housecarl didn't ask for.

"Argis! Just the man I was looking for."

The Dragonborn walked in, a wide grin plastered across his face, a tell-tale sign of trouble. He never would have walked in if he didn't have bad intentions to begin with.

"See I found these little unfortunate souls—"

"We were getting by quite nicely by ourselves, if we're being honest."

"Sleeping under the stars has its merits, after all."

"For the love of Mara, shut up and let me talk!"

For someone whose power comes from his voice, it's almost too easy to talk over him.

"Right," he continued after clearing his throat, "These little urchins (said urchins made a face with this word) aimlessly walked around the Reach, scamming people off their honest gold—"

"Hey!" Was the resounding objection.

"Selling useless Dwemer junk." The Dragonborn looked pointedly at the two children, who looked away in response. "So, I've taken it upon myself to provide for them, lest the Forsworn chance upon them and," he stared them down further, "carve their hearts out for them. But you'd rather prefer that, don't you?"

"Uh…" the dark-haired boy muttered, "no?"

When the other boy didn't react, this child elbowed him in the ribs. He got a glare instead.

"Right, that settles it!"

_No, it doesn't_, was what Argis wanted to say, but for some reason, he found himself speechless. First, his Thane who comes by only once a moon's turn, makes his second appearance right after leaving last week. Second, he brings back _children_ of all things.

Sure, his opinion of the Dragonborn hasn't really been favorable. The man was inside Cidhna Mine and promptly broke out, then became Thane—anyone with _eyes_ can see why that's suspicious. His actions after becoming Thane made him even more suspicious; who in their right mind would break into the Temple of Dibella, shortly after being pardoned? Even if he blames it on _some guy_ challenging him to a drinking contest… something's clearly not right inside the Dragonborn's head.

Perhaps it is the fact that he _is_ the Dragonborn that makes him strange. Too bad he ruined everyone's image of the legend the moment he existed.

Said Thane probably said something more that he missed while he was lost in his thoughts.

"...They're pretty self-sufficient, I'm sure they know how to cook for themselves. They'll stay out of your way if you prefer, but I think it'd be best to share at least one meal a day together." He rambled on, before giving Argis a look that's almost apologetic, "I imagine it can get lonely being all by yourself, after all."

He found himself speechless once more. Perhaps there's more to this man than just his eccentricities.

"Now children, introduce yourselves to Argis the Bulwark. He will be with you most days especially when I'm—"

"Out enjoying Skyrim on your own?"

"Getting almost killed by a bear?"

"There are far worse monsters than just bears!" The Dragonborn exclaimed, before hearing the snickers the two rascals were exchanging at his expense. "The Divines must really hate you both for you to end up in my house."

"They hate you more though," the redhead retorted, "it was you who had the misfortune to meet us."

The man deflated with a sigh, as more snickers filled the hall. Argis finds that he doesn't hate the sound at all.

"Anyway, Argis will look after you—"

"How can he look after us if he only has one eye?"

That child got elbowed in the ribs once more. At least he has a brother to keep him in line.

"I lost one eye," Argis found himself saying, "but not my will to live."

* * *

The dark-haired child is called Bottar, the redhead is Sond. They were not brothers, they clarified as they told their story over dinner, but friends. Now they're brothers.

"Legally, thanks to one meddling man," Sond had commented loudly.

The housecarl noticed that they talk quite a lot, but not once did he see a bored expression cross over his Thane's face. Perhaps he too, understood how it is to be out in the wild, with only yourself to rely on. After the children has exhausted their chatter for the night and retired to their room, he found the Dragonborn adjusting the straps of his armor near the hearth. His shadow, Argis noted, made bigger by his plates and longer against the wall, was steady. He remembers the night his father bid him goodbye, and steels himself for the departure.

"Argis," the other man called out, hands now putting on the Orcish gauntlet that completed his ensemble. "You'll find gold in the chest at the foot of my bed. Should be enough for months, but I'll still send couriers to deliver more. They're growing children; they'll be a handful and annoying, so I ask for your patience in dealing with them."

He stood now, facing him, with the flames behind giving him a glow so powerful that almost made the housecarl buckle in his presence. Perhaps it is the dragon in his Thane addressing him now, making him want to cower in submission.

"Don't hesitate to send a courier should any danger arise. I know that I'll be leaving them in your capable hands, but one can never be too sure. With the war raging in and out of Skyrim, the goal is to survive."

The familiarity of words brought warmth to his chest. Even long after he's left the hearth to see off his Thane, he remained warm, no goblet of wine needed.

"Look after the house for me, won't you?"

Argis inclined his head a bit lower than the usual as the Dragonborn exited.

"Honor to you, my Thane."

* * *

**A/N:** Sure, the kids will move to the nearest settlement wherever you meet them, but why oh why can't you just adopt them!? Still, hope you enjoy this one, even if it's not as biting as the first one. Cheers!


End file.
